


twisted labyrinth lace

by Neffectual



Series: From An In-Ring Perspective [17]
Category: Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Gen, Mirrors, Possession
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-23
Updated: 2016-10-23
Packaged: 2018-08-24 07:11:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8362456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neffectual/pseuds/Neffectual
Summary: He was always, always going to be a star, and he'd do whatever it took to get him there. He'd give up anything.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SurviveEternity](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SurviveEternity/gifts).



In Tyler’s seasonal residence in Vancouver, there’s one little space, a room at the back with the door locked. He doesn’t let anyone in this room, not even the cleaner, not in his little hall of mirrors, because right at the back, there’s the one mirror that he hasn’t looked at for years. The last time he looked in this mirror, he was working as Mike Dalton, his modelling gigs were casting clips for jock-itch cream and cheap mail-order catalogues. When he won the tag titles, as if they were worth anything, in NXT, and held them high on a non-televised show with a man who wouldn’t give him the time of day on the main roster if he paid him money to be in the same room as him. Right at the back of the room, there’s that mirror, the one which holds all of his insecurities, all of his hopelessness, all of his old ways.

He’s built an empire, pulled it out of his soul and poured it into his strut, worked himself over and peered at every frown line in the mirror until the botox worked it away. There’s been experimental surgery in all sorts of places, Malaysia just one of them, changing his body, sculpting and shaping himself into what he wants everyone to see, into a creature of power and beauty and decisive wit. He’s gorgeous, everyone says so, everyone knows so, and the aura of power around him has been driven into the world by his own force of personality. When he smiles, the whole world becomes a dazzle of flashbulbs, and he’s never felt more powerful, or more alive.

Oh, it pleases him to talk, to trip little phrases off his tongue and pretend to be as dumb as a bag of rocks, but he’s more than that now, he’s got so many plans and schemes whirling around in this pretty little head that sometimes it’s like the thoughts never stop buzzing, like persistent flies, and it sets his teeth on edge. There are few sounds he can’t abide, but that buzzing… it’s too much like so many other things, sounds he thought he’d forgotten so many years ago. The sounds of chains, keeping him tied to things, keeping him pliant and low, reminding him that he was worth nothing, and would remain nothing, that his career would be as insubstantial as a wisp of smoke.

He makes sure to keep the dim ones around him – first Summer Rae, who twittered like a bird until he’d silenced her with a mutual understanding that he’d suggested, orchestrated and put into motion, and now Fandango, who’s got all the brains of a jellyfish, and none of the sting. He doesn’t want anyone working it out, although there’s precious few who could, these days. Precious few would believe even if he told them, flat out, what he had done. Everyone wants to know how you make yourself a star, and when they ask, Tyler just laughs.

“It’s all about star quality,” he says, “and what you’re willing to give.”

He unlocks the room, slipping silently through the maze of mirrors. A different iteration of his face peers out each one, some gripping the frame and raging silently against the glass, some smiling winsomely, some flashing mouths full of sharp and bloody teeth. His bare feet are quiet even on cold white marble, the only material in the room aside from the gilt on the frames and the silvered glass, until he begins to shed his clothing, leaving black silk draped across the floor. The whole space feels like a morgue, and his breath is a frozen puff of vapour in the cool stillness, as if he is the only thing that has ever moved through this room, the only living thing to press tanned, bare toes to cold stone and follow the maze right to the centre.

“What were you willing to give?” he asks, tasting the words as if they’re oysters and champagne, fine delicate truffles, the tears of a lover, and stares at the crumpled form in the mirror, the man who used to live here, as he cries silently, head buried down on his knees, his face hidden. “Stand up.”

They stand, facing each other, and for a moment, it’s like they really are mirror images, until the Tyler inside the mirror drops his gaze.

“Please,” he rasps, voice sore from screaming, although he doesn’t bother much with that anymore. Mostly he just cries a lot. “I just want it back.”

The Tyler not held in the mirror spins, slowly, showing off the marvellous body that he’s worked wonders with.

“You made a deal,” he says, mildly, and his voice is careless. “You signed away anything I wanted if I could just make you a star, just make you someone your precious Leakee would notice.”

The laughter from inside the mirror is hollow.

“And has he?” he asks, voice tight. “Has he even looked twice at what you’ve made me into?”

The Tyler outside of the mirror frowns, then straightens out his brow, so as not to cause wrinkles.

“No,” he admits, “he hasn’t.”

For a moment, they’re both silent, demon and man, staring at each other, and then the creature that calls itself Tyler Breeze turns its meat suit, and walks away. What is left of Mike Dalton, trapped within the confines of the mirror, watches him go. It’s hard to say whose prison is the hardest to bear.


End file.
